


Silvertongue

by thistlethorns



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: (for all of five minutes), Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Happy Ending, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Identity Porn, M/M, Magic, Mild Gore, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 05:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6940852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thistlethorns/pseuds/thistlethorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story about knights and magic. This is a story about demons and princes.</p><p>This is a story about two boys; one brighter than the sun, the prince of a grand kingdom, and the other kinder than the moon, his dearest companion; who love each other with everything they have.</p><p>This is, at its heart, a story about a heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silvertongue

**Author's Note:**

> I get ridiculous sometimes. Tumblr cheerleader [rineechan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rineechan/) enabled this, and also now owes me her completed assignment.

This is a story about knights and magic. This is a story about demons and princes.

This is a story about two boys; one brighter than the sun, the prince of a grand kingdom, and the other kinder than the moon, his dearest companion; who love each other with everything they have.

This is, at its heart, a story about a heart.

~*~

_Ten years ago_

Childish laughter, and the sound of hooves through snow.

“Hurry up, slowpoke!”

“You cheated!” shouts Tony indignantly, but his words are whipped away by the wind almost as soon as he says them. Steve is upwind and hasn’t heard a thing.

Tony urges his noble steed (a pony worthy of a young prince, promised Jarvis) forward. He hasn’t won a race with Steve in the last two months, and he’s determined to win this one. Just because Steve grew three inches in twice as many months! It’s not fair, really. Barely a year ago were they of a height. Mother always promises Tony that princes always grow tall and strong and handsome, but Tony thinks that Steve is becoming more so than he is, and secretly feels like maybe he isn’t princely enough. It’s the one secret Tony keeps from Steve, his best friend in the entire world.

But Tony’s moments of anxiety always disappear when he’s out with Steve, just the two of them playing like they always do. They dash through Tony’s lands (all of it is Tony’s, says Jarvis, and all the people are his, so Tony must take care of everyone) beyond the castle walls, going further and further north, letting the heavily-falling snow cover their tracks.

“Hurry up, Tony!” shouts Steve over his shoulder, and Tony urges his pony faster again. Steve is almost twenty yards ahead of him.

Their goal today is the clearing in the forest in front of them, where they often have their top secret meetings and make plans to prank the castle staff. His Majesty the King, Tony’s father, forbade Tony from ever leaving the castle alone, even though Tony has been training to protect himself (and his people, Tony thinks) for several years now. Tony complained to Mother, but she agreed with His Majesty and reminded him that he will be allowed when he is sixteen. Sixteen! That’s _years_ away. Tony is only eleven. But he _is_ allowed to leave when Steve is at his side, Steve who is only fourteen but has been training and whom everyone in the castle says will one day be the strongest knight in the kingdom. _Ever_ , thinks Tony privately, because he’s seen Steve beat full-fledged knights in training.

The snowy plain drops behind Tony and the pine forest flashes past. The clearing is just up ahead, and Tony can already see where the trees thin. Steve’s whoop of premature, triumphant laughter carries back to him on the wind.

Something else is carried to Tony’s ears on the wind.

It happens before Tony even realises what he has heard; he’s thrown off his pony and onto the sparsely snow-covered ground. He lands on his shoulder and it hurts, it hurts like a blow from an instructor’s wooden sword, but what captures Tony’s attention is the huge, black wolf that’s advancing on him. Behind the wolf, Tony can just make out the limp figure his pony makes on the ground. Tony freezes, just for a second, before remembering that he’s not alone.

“Steve!” he shouts. “Steve, help me!”

The wind whips his words away again. Only the wolf seems to have heard, and it bares a hideous snarl at him for it. Tony inches back, finds a broken branch and wraps his numb fingers around it.

“ _Steve!_ ” screams Tony again, just as the wolf lunges.

~*~

_Present_

“Hurry up, slowpoke,” Tony murmurs at his horse. Dummy, named because Tony had thought he was being funny about the dun mare and who then wouldn't respond to any other name, neighs easily at him.

“Oh, you think you're so clever. Just you wait, I'm trading you in at the next inn we find,” says Tony. Dummy neighs again, and Tony continues, “What's that? You think just because you're an imperial steed, you're all that? Well, you're not, Dummy, you're terrible at your job. You spend too much time away from the cavalry, you're not even royal anymore.”

Dummy harrumphs noisily, and continues down the beaten road at her leisurely pace. Well, Tony supposes it's really more his fault that Dummy has spent so much time out of the royal cavalry. He spends most of his days away from the castle, away from the prison in which His Majesty still believes Tony to be locked up.

Ten years ago, after the accident which left Tony scarred across half his face, His Majesty had scarcely waited until the scars had healed before throwing Tony into an isolated tower "for his convalescence", and has kept him and his hideous face hidden from the public eye since then. Tony knows his own father; appearances and pride are important to His Majesty, and he would sooner pretend Tony is normal but recovering than see his son ugly and flawed, a ghastly prince as heir to the throne. So he locked Tony away, forbade him from ever leaving the Tower, and tells the world that Tony is doing well.

He forgets, or maybe he doesn't think about it, but Tony is no longer the rule-abiding child he once tried to be.

Tony wouldn't (can't) be sealed away from his kingdom, his people, and he figured out long ago, very quickly, how to slip out of his lonely tower. His Majesty doesn't check up on Tony often, and even when he asks, the servants of the Tower are fiercely loyal to their prince and can always be relied on to cover for Tony. Not many know it, but Tony has been defying his exile for years.

He has always been skilled with his hands; six years ago, he made himself his first iron mask and started travelling his kingdom under guise. Six years and eight different iterations of his iron mask later, the Iron Knight is known by name and deed across the kingdom. Tony has spent the years travelling to nearly every corner of his father's lands, getting to know people and helping where he can, learning land and trade, feeling freer than he ever had. His disfigurement matters not to the people who don't see it, who never knew the beautiful boy before it and show him pity, and all they see is a noble, golden-masked avenger who delivers their justice and fights their battles.

Speaking of battles... Tony pulls Dummy to a halt and listens carefully. Surely he heard a scream earlier. Faint, but there.

“Follow your ears, girl,” he says, patting her. Dummy tosses her head and turns off the path, heading into a dense crop of rocks and boulders to their left. As they draw closer, the scream comes again, echoing off the rocks.

“Someone help me!” the voice shrieks, high and filled with terror. Tony urges Dummy forward.

They round a large boulder and come across a group of highwaymen, surrounding a young woman. The men are brandishing heavy weapons and leering meanly at the woman, whose pretty face is contorted in terror. One by one, the men notice Tony on his horse, and turn to face him instead. The biggest one, probably the leader from the way the others crowd around him, steps forward. His axe is raised.

“This is none of your business, stranger,” says the man. “Leave now and leave with your life.”

“You are the ones who should leave,” calls Tony, and he throws back his hood to reveal his mask. He waits for recognition to hit the man's face. It does, and the faces of every other man.

“The Iron Knight,” sneers the leader, but he lowers his weapon slowly. “Always sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong. I wondered if we would meet you one day. Can you take on all my men, I wonder?”

“You're welcome to find out,” Tony says. He pulls his sword from its sheath slowly, watching as a dozen pairs of eyes track the movement. He can see the leader thinking, assessing Tony's confidence and reputation against his own men, and knows when the leader decides to put up a fight.

“So we will!” says the leader, raising his axe again. “At him, men!”

The fight is over quickly; Tony (and Dummy) dispatches the highwaymen with the ease of a knight well trained and travelled. They run, leaving behind the frightened young woman cowering against the rocks.

Tony dismounts before approaching her carefully, hands raised to show no harm meant.

“Are you all right, miss?” he asks.

The young woman raises her head. Her eyes are big and dark against her pale skin, her pretty face the very image of vulnerable fear. Her dress is tattered and torn where she was pushed against the rocks and some rips look like they come from blades. Tony pulls his cloak off his shoulders, careful to keep the motion slow, and offers it to her.

“Thank you,” she manages shakily as she pulls it around her shoulders. Her voice is beautiful, lower than most women’s but with a melodic, rounded softness to it that accentuates its feminine charm.

“Is your home nearby?” Tony says. “I can take you safely to wherever it is you need to go.”

“I no longer have a home,” she answers pitifully, then raises her head to look at Tony through her lashes. “Please, brave sir, let me follow you. My life is yours now; do with me as you may.”

Tony shakes his head. “You owe me no such thing, miss. Tell me where you have friends or family, and I will take you there.”

“I don’t know if any live,” says the young woman. “Please, sir, take me with you, wherever you may go. If you leave me, more dishonourable men like those before will simply attack me again.”

Tony refuses again and again, but the woman will not be moved. He relents, in the end, and tells her to join him atop Dummy.

“What is your name?” he asks, when they are on the road. Dummy had fussed about her extra passenger, but Tony appeased her by promising to buy another horse for his new companion in the next town.

The woman hesitates before saying, “Where I am from, I was well known for my voice in song. They gave me a name that was not mine, but has now become the only name by which I am known. You may call me Silvertongue.”

~*~

They travel together until they approach the eastern border of the kingdom, furthest from the castle, where there stands a great fortress of white stone that guards the kingdom from the east. They approach, but they do not encroach, because Tony refuses to go within range of the fortress. Silvertongue asks him why, but he doesn’t answer her. He won’t share so easily a story from ten years ago, a story of an old friend who disappeared after the accident and has been stationed at the white fortress ever since, a story of misplaced guilt and regrets deeper than the gouges in his skin.

As they stay the night in a nearby village, however, Silvertongue goes to collect information and comes back to him with tears in her limpid eyes.

“We must go to the fortress,” she says. Tony opens his mouth to argue, but she cuts over him, “No, we must, sir! I have heard from the villagers that a man matching the description of my dear brother was last seen headed to the white fortress. Iron Knight, we must go and see if they have seen him, please!”

A plea Tony cannot in good faith deny. He sighs.

“Very well,” he says. “We leave for the fortress in the morning.”

“Oh, thank you!” says Silvertongue. “I will make my preparations immediately. Unless, of course, you have any other need of me…?”

“No, thank you,” Tony says. He is no fool, of course, and he knows what she is offering him. But he has only ever been interested in one person, who left him ten years ago and will likely never return. He knows that he may seem a simpleton, declining the affections of a woman as lovely as Silvertongue for a love long lost, but Tony’s heart has not been his to give since he first met Steve as a child. He inclines his masked head graciously at Silvertongue. “Rest well, Silvertongue.”

She pouts charmingly as she leaves him to his ale (sipped carefully through a slit in his mask) and his thoughts.

Tony’s travels for the last six years have mostly been left to chance and Tony’s own sense of adventure, but in all that time, he studiously avoided the great white fortress to the east. There was never a reason to explore that corner of his kingdom, or so Tony has always told himself. Truth be told, Tony avoided it because he knew Steve was there, because he is still in some ways a hurt and petty child stubbornly refusing to face Steve’s guilt.

Ten years ago, Tony woke up after the accident, safe and sound inside his rooms, to find that his best friend had disappeared after fighting off the wolf that had attacked Tony. When questioned, all that anyone would tell him was that Steve had been assigned to a post in the eastern fortress. Tony had compared this to the Steve that he knew, and realised that Steve must have exiled himself in misplaced guilt for what had happened. Tony didn’t—still doesn’t want to see Steve, doesn’t want to see that revolting mix of guilt and pity on Steve’s face that everyone at the Tower gives him when they think he isn’t looking.

So Tony has avoided Steve out of pure stubbornness for years, but he can’t very well indulge his own selfish thoughts when Silvertongue needs to find her family. He’s glad of his mask and secret identity, and prays that Steve will not recognise the Iron Knight for his childhood friend the prince.

~*~

The guards at the white fortress are wary at first, but they too have heard of the Iron Knight and his good deeds, and they are instantly charmed by Silvertongue’s sweet countenance, so Tony and Silvertongue are allowed to stay without much trouble. As they enter, the captain of the fortress guards approaches them in welcome; Tony’s breath catches behind his mask.

Of course Steve is the captain, supplies some voice in Tony’s mind in pride, as the rest of him takes in Steve’s appearance like a man starved of beauty. Steve is still taller than Tony, though the difference is now down to an inch; his eyes are bluer than Tony remembers, his nose and jaw sharper; his mouth softer and fuller. He stands with the balanced grace of a skilled fighter and the readiness of a soldier. Tony stares and stares, lost in Steve’s visage, and oh, no wonder Tony never felt a thing for Silvertongue! How could he, when the object of his affection was always this beautiful? Why did Tony’s reasons for staying away ever seem valid?

“Iron Knight,” says Steve, and Tony suppresses a shudder at his voice, so much deeper than Tony remembers, “welcome to the eastern fortress. I am its captain, Steve Rogers. Tales of your deeds have reached us many a time, and we’re happy to let you and your companion stay for as long as you need.”

Tony needs to stay forever, he thinks madly for a moment, then composes himself. He deepens his voice before speaking, though he knows that there should be no need; Steve has never heard Prince Tony speak as a man before, and therefore doesn’t know his voice. “Thank you,” he says, slowly. He waits for a reaction, and isn’t sure how he feels when there is none. “This is Silvertongue, who seeks her lost brother. He was last seen headed in this direction, and we would like to stay for as long as it takes to find him.”

“Certainly,” says Steve, and he smiles warmly at them both. Tony basks in it. “If you will follow my men, they will show you to your rooms.”

“I would like to speak to you more,” blurts Tony before he can control himself. He thanks the gods that his mask hides the blush rising on his ugly face. “I mean, I am sure we have much to compare in the way of adventures,” he says with a touch more composure.

Steve’s smile widens. “Of course,” he says, “I look forward to exchanging tales with you. If your companion will follow my men, I will show you around and we can exchange stories.”

Tony agrees all too readily.

~*~

Days and weeks pass, and Silvertongue says she is no closer to locating her lost brother.

Tony has long since stopped minding; he and Steve have grown close once more, though Tony’s true identity is still a secret. They have (re)discovered common ground, shared interests and beliefs, and mutual admiration, becoming fast friends once again, even with the great secret of the Iron Knight’s identity between them.

(“You don’t have to tell me, Iron Knight,” said Steve, early during Tony’s stay. “I respect your need to maintain an identity outside of the work you do, and I know that we can be friends all the same.”)

They spend most of their days together, as Tony has joined the fortress guards on their patrol and training, and the experience is highly educational. Tony has learnt more about the logistics of running a troop of men in the last two weeks than he ever did from his tutors in the Tower, and in return he teaches the guards everything he knows about survival in various corners of the kingdom. Tony spends many evenings debating strategy with Steve over the dinner table as Steve’s men holler and pick sides. Silvertongue just watches and smiles, and Tony would feel worse about her missing brother, but they’re doing everything that they can in between the guards’ usual duties.

So Tony’s days pass, and he’s happier than he’s been in years. But he knows that Steve is holding some reserve of distance between them, can feel that Steve won’t let himself get too close to Tony, and it hurts. Tony knows that he is broken, that the mask keeps everyone at a distance, but to have it so bluntly put in front of him makes him feel as though all his terrible scars are hurting again. But Tony wears a literal mask to hide his pain, and he is sure no one knows the unhappiness he is hiding deep inside.

“Iron Knight,” calls Steve, bringing Tony’s attention back to their training session, “where have you gone? Keep on your toes, or Dugan will have your arse on the ground, and then you’ll be too sore to spar with me.”

“He’s fifty years too early,” retorts Tony. He proceeds to soundly thrash Dugan to prove his point.

“You’re not fifty years old,” says Steve, when they’ve finished sparring and are watching the rest of the men fight.

“How do you know?” says Tony, putting a challenge in his tone to hide his heart’s sudden leap into his throat.

“You don’t sound it,” Steve says, shrugging. “Besides, a fifty-year-old would have had the experience and sense to dodge that last blow.”

Tony doesn’t try to conceal the smile in his voice. “I’ll have your head for cheek, Rogers. You know, you didn’t quite catch that hit to your knees, either.”

“I’m not fifty, either,” replies Steve, grinning at him. Tony finds himself laughing along, the sound rattling funnily behind his mask.

Things change one night, when Silvertongue sings. She stands at the end of a dinner, after all the ale and wine has been had, and declares that she will sing in gratitude to the many who have helped her in her search for her brother. She sings; her voice is even more alluring when it is raised in song. Within the first few bars, every listener is captivated. Tony himself is slightly less so, only because he has heard her sing before during their travels together, and he takes the opportunity to look around the hall and gauge the guards’ reactions.

Tony’s eyes roam, but they always land on Steve in the end. To his jealousy, he finds Steve listening with as much admiration in his gaze as everyone else. Tony tries to shake off the uncharitable emotion. Rationally, he knows that there is no reason for Steve to show a different reaction from everyone else, but somewhere in his heart he admits he had hoped for more resistance to Silvertongue’s pretty charms. Silvertongue catches his eye at the end of her performance, and he looks away.

~*~

Later that night, Tony walks along the battlements, feeling sorry for himself. The moon hangs bright above him. To his right lies his father’s kingdom, dark in the night but with dozens of pinpricks of light showing him where the people are. He wonders how many of them are happy.

“There you are,” comes a sweet voice from behind him. He turns to see Silvertongue there, smiling at him. “I wondered where you ran off to after dinner, but I couldn’t come to search for you immediately. The good captain and his men insisted on a reprise of that last song. It took me ages to get away!” Her playful laugh tinkles through the silent night air.

Tony doesn’t reply. He nods at her in as absent a manner as possible, despite feeling anything but unconcerned, hoping that she will take the hint and move on. Silvertongue doesn’t appear to notice.

“Tell me, Iron Knight, are all men attracted to beauty all the time? It grows so tiresome, being desired so constantly,” she says, and Tony feels his hackles rising slowly. He’s almost certain she is showing off. “But then, you wouldn’t know anything about the feeling, would you, Iron Knight?” says Silvertongue slyly, and Tony bristles.

He can’t find a single thing to say that he might regret later, so he turns to leave, but Silvertongue’s hand shoots out and closes around his arm. Her grip is painfully strong.

“Now, now, don’t get all huffy and leave without hearing me out, _Your Highness_ ,” says Silvertongue, and to Tony’s horror she is no longer a woman, but a strange form that resembles neither woman nor man. Golden horns flash on the figure’s forehead, and its skin is a dusty blue. _A demon_ , Tony thinks, and wrenches himself away, drawing his sword.

“Now, now,” repeats the demon, holding its hands up. As Tony watches, the figure shifts again to become that of a man with green eyes. Tony’s grip on his sword tightens. The demon smiles a sly smile at him and continues, “I mean you no harm. I simply have an offer for you that I think you might want to hear.”

“I don’t,” Tony grits out, making to raise his sword.

“Not even for a chance to earn your beloved’s love?” asks Silvertongue.

Tony freezes. Silvertongue’s smile widens.

“What do you mean?” Tony asks.

“It’s really very simple,” says Silvertongue. “You desire the love of the good captain, and you already know what you need to have it. I can heal the scars on your face completely, leave you as handsome as you were always meant to be.”

“In exchange for what?” says Tony, because he wants that, oh how he wants that, but he knows how the stories go.

Silvertongue’s smile turns sharp. “Your heart, given willingly.”

Tony blanches. “My _heart_?”

“Allow me to explain,” says Silvertongue smoothly, waving his hands airily as though he hasn’t just asked for something impossible. “I was once a prince myself, of a land far away and far older than this one, and oh, how great a prince I was! I would have made a great king, too. But my doddering old father favoured my brother, and would never have made me king. I had to do something, just as you feel the need to do something now.

“So I tried to wrest the throne from my brother, but my father was most displeased. He cursed me, then, cursed me for my hubris and my selfish greed, cursed me for my heartlessness. Do you see where this is going, young prince? He cursed me to know true heartlessness, that I might wander realms seeking a new heart. Did you know, young prince, that not having a heart makes one cold?” asks Silvertongue, holding his hands to his (presumably empty) bosom in theatrical sorrow. “It is the coldest feeling in the world, living without a heart. I am constantly frozen as though standing in the harshest of winter landscapes, and my only hope to lift the curse is a new heart, willingly given. I have tried, oh have I tried, but no amount of seduction, tricks or coercion has ever won me a heart that kept me warm for more than a day.”

“So you seek mine from me in fair exchange,” Tony surmises. “And you think it will keep you warm?”

“Oh, but your heart!” exclaims the demon, with genuine force. “Your heart, young prince! You do not know it, but your heart is the softest, the warmest I have ever encountered in my long, long years. I am certain that your heart is the heart I have been searching for!”

Tony takes an involuntary step back in repulsion.

“My answer is no, demon,” says Tony. “You can’t have my heart as beats in my chest.”

“Don’t be so hasty,” says Silvertongue, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Don’t you want to be rid of those ugly scars on your face?”

“Scars are not equal currency for a _heart_ ,” Tony says, appalled.

“Normally, no,” agrees Silvertongue, “but your scars aren’t just scars, are they? They disfigure you, make you a terrible blight on the sight of even your loved ones. Oh, they smile and tell you otherwise, but you’ve seen the pity on their faces. You know they think you’re broken. Why, your own father won’t let you have his throne, either, just because you’re hideous!”

“Shut up,” Tony snaps, stung deep but struggling to hide it. Silvertongue does nothing of the sort.

“Your beloved is the same,” says Silvertongue, now twisting the knife deep. “He distances himself from your advances because he cannot love a cold, golden mask, and it’s really quite unfair of you to even want that from him.”

Tony feels cold, and wonders if it’s his proximity to Silvertongue causing it.

“He won’t come close to you even if you remove the mask, you know. You saw earlier, did you not? Even his, the noblest of men’s hearts, is swayed by pure physical beauty. You have noticed his distance. What could that be, I wonder, if not revulsion for your ugly, masked countenance?”

“I’m no fool,” says Tony. “It must be a terrible thing, being heartless, that you would want a heart so badly.”

“No more terrible than being disfigured as you are,” says Silvertongue. “I grow weary of the everlasting cold, but it is not such a bad thing, to have a hold over people—to be desired by those whom you desire. And you could do so much good as king, couldn’t you? You have such grand plans to improve the lives of your people, to bring peace to all four borders, and to make people _happy_. You ask what your scars stop you from having: the answer is _everything you have wanted_.”

Tony hesitates. His dreams and hopes flash through his mind unbidden, and he admits to himself that Silvertongue is right. But to be without a heart—

“What use have you for a heart, anyway?” asks Silvertongue shrewdly. “Your love is not returned. What use to you is that warm, tender heart, bruised and broken as it is?”

There is a voice in Tony’s head that has been speaking to him since he was a child, a voice that sounds rather like His Majesty’s; it always says: _you are not good enough_. Tony listens to it, and thinks that maybe if he weren’t so obviously flawed, his father would acknowledge him as heir once more and allow him to do for the kingdom more than he is now allowed to do. Maybe if his father wouldn’t see a blight, a failure every time he looked at Tony, Tony could be the prince, the king he always wanted to be. Maybe if he were healed, Mother would smile again without tears in the corners of her eyes. Maybe Tony could regain his love lost. Maybe—maybe—

“All right,” Tony says, and Silvertongue’s green eyes light in avaricious triumph.

Silvertongue’s hand snakes out, quicker than Tony can think to move away, and flicks his mask off. The night air is cool and fresh against the knotted skin of Tony’s face. Tony imagines he can hear a soft scraping sound from behind him, but Silvertongue flings the mask to the side, letting it clatter down against the stones and drown out all ambient sound. He leans in and runs his hand along Tony’s twisted skin, in what could almost be called a caress.

Tony feels nothing in his own flesh, but he can feel when Silvertongue’s hand no longer curves over bumps and raised skin, instead moving smoothly down the side of his face, like Tony’s skin is completely unmarred. He takes a deep breath, and in that breath, Silvertongue pulls his heart out of his chest.

Tony’s eyes widen, but the suddenness of it steals his breath and he can’t scream. He hears a scream anyway, from behind him, and turns to see Steve frozen in shock on the battlements.

“You are too late!” sneers Silvertongue, pushing the heart—Tony’s heart, Tony’s still-beating, blood red heart—into his own chest. The light bluish tint to the demon’s skin disappears immediately. Silvertongue screeches. “Yes, yes! This heart is perfect!”

Tony hears Steve’s boots on stone running up behind him, but his eyes are fixed on Silvertongue. The demon laughs aloud in triumph, and he disappears in wave of his hands and a final, dramatic flare of light and smoke.

Tony stares down at his chest next, at the strange gaping hole in the centre of it. He cups his hands around the hole as though to keep the phantom feeling of his heart close. He wonders if he’s still breathing, if he can still breathe. Already, Tony feels the cold creeping in, like ice in his fingertips. He finally looks up at Steve.

Steve looks like he’s the one who isn’t breathing.

“Tony,” says Steve, his voice breaking on the first syllable, “Tony? It can’t be you…”

Tony is some wild mixture of disappointment and hope as he asks, “Now do you recognise me, Steve?”

“You were dead!” Steve says, and tears are running down his face. Tony simply stares at him, dismayed and confused. “And now you’re dying again,” cries Steve, gesturing at the hole in Tony’s chest. Tony hesitates, then explains.

“I won’t die,” he says, “I gave my heart to the demon in exchange for fixing the scars on my face. You should be glad,” he adds bitterly.

Steve stops crying, but stares back at Tony, looking lost. “Scars?” he asks, as though he doesn’t know!

“The scars from the accident ten years ago,” Tony snaps impatiently. “You saw those wounds yourself—did you think they wouldn’t leave their mark?”

And Steve is deathly pale, so quiet as he says, “I did see the wounds. Tony, I saw the wounds! They were—there was—I couldn’t—I thought you were dead!” His voice rises into a shout by the end of his aborted sentences, but it comes back down into a whisper as he adds, like a man haunted, “I thought you were dead and it was all my fault.”

The misunderstanding becomes clearer, but still unfounded. How could Steve have thought Tony dead?

“How could you think I had died?” demands Tony, then adds an angry afterthought, “If you had only stayed at the castle, you would have known that I was alive!”

“I was sent away!” says Steve. “I am here in the furthest reaches of the kingdom for my failure to protect you!”

“And of course, you don’t get any news here,” spits Tony.

“We get news,” Steve says, “and we also get rumours. We hear that the prince is supposedly alive, but that no one has seen him in ten years and that the king seeks a new heir, so what kind of conclusion were we supposed to draw? What kinds of rumours do you think make it here?”

“Well, I’m alive,” says Tony, “and healed now. Will you love me as you always did before?”

“Gods, Tony, I always did. I always did, and still do.”

“What, now that I am a handsome prince again?”

Steve’s face contorts as he realises anew what Tony has done and why. He was always able to hear the nasty voices in Tony’s head, recalls Tony, and he always had a way of denouncing them.

“No, Tony,” says Steve, “not because you are handsome again, and I regret anything I might have done to make you think this way. I came to love the Iron Knight dearly, though I fought it hard in my faith to the memory of my prince. I should have known from the start, it was always you, and I could never have loved another like I loved you. I would have loved the Iron Knight regardless of his face beneath the mask, or even if he would never remove the mask for me. You have made a grievous mistake, my prince, and it is my fault once again.”

Tony’s heart, had he still had it, would swell twice in size. He steps close to Steve and grasps Steve’s hands in his.

“No, dear friend,” he says, “the mistake was mine alone. I should have trusted you. Now I pay for my folly with my own heart. Oh, the irony!”

Steve’s brows knit in determination. “I will give you mine in replacement,” he says, his voice full of the stubbornness Tony knows so well.

“No, you can’t,” says Tony, but he immediately feels warmer. His fingertips tingle, but with rising warmth and not painful cold, and he no longer feels as though he is knee-deep in invisible snow. Instead he feels as though the sun has come out from behind heavy clouds, heat beating down on his skin. What is going on?

“Tony,” says Steve; his voice is choked. He’s staring with wide eyes at Tony’s chest, where the hole is, where his heart used to be.

Tony looks down himself and sees—nothing. No unsightly hole, just smooth unmarked skin over his—Tony puts his hand to it. He can feel his heart beneath it, beating strongly like it never left. The skin beneath his hand is warm and full of life. Tony is completely whole, undamaged from his exchange with Silvertongue.

He can barely bring himself to lift his gaze from his own chest, but does so to see Steve also staring in wonder; on an impulse, Tony pulls Steve’s hands to his chest. They stand there, caught in simple amazement for the miracle.

“What happened?” asks Steve in a hushed tone, his fingers curling gently over Tony’s restored heart.

“ _A heart willingly given_ ,” Tony says in a daze. “The curse, Steve. You broke it. You broke it for me.”

Steve looks at him carefully.

“And you’re going to be all right?”

“Yes,” says Tony. He laughs a bright laugh. “Yes, I think we both will.”

~*~

So they return together, to the castle where the King now welcomes Tony with alacrity, though Tony never needs His Majesty’s approval again. The Queen does weep in joy, though it is only after she hears of the story behind her son’s narrow escape. The Tower where Tony was imprisoned is opened to all who wish to see the returned prince. The servants loyal to Tony are overjoyed to see his safe return with Steve restored to his side, and celebrate for days.

One day in the future, Tony is crowned King, and

all

       is

            well.

**Author's Note:**

> Like my first was based on a musical, this fairytale AU is based on a movie, [Painted Skin: The Resurrection](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2371411/). The movie was a lot darker and more gory than this was, because I usually aim for the sort of fairy tale you can actually read to a child without traumatising them for life.
> 
> As usual, I'm [kienu](http://kienu.tumblr.com/) on tumblr; come say hi!


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